Icarus
by MegElemental
Summary: "His waxen wings did mount above his reach." Tintin has strayed too far, and may never get home. Lost in the foggy recesses of the past, completely alone, will this be his last adventure?
1. Chapter 1

The air puffed from his lungs in thick white clouds, joining the mist already lingering in the dark, damp corners of the docks. The sun was just breaching the horizon as he ran through crates and barrels, all standing in silent rows like sentinels, heralding the dawn in with silent faces and stony stares.

_The docks look the same, _he thought vaguely as he ran, his feet slapping the hard floor painfully. The noise was muffled by the fog and the sound of the lapping waves, the creaking of the many ships and the cawing and squalling of seagulls already wheeling and whirling in the lightening navy sky.

_I can't have gone that far back._

Work at the docks started early – you had to catch the morning rays if you wanted to catch the morning tide, after all. Every sailor worth his salt knew that. So there were already various silhouettes walking the docks, checking cargo, their shapes outlined by a pale yellow glow. A few turned to watch the young man dash past them as though his life depended on it, with the bright dawn sun shining golden in his hair and a small snow-white dog running close to his heels.

Tintin ran on, pushing his body past its limits, painfully aware that if he wasn't fast enough he would miss it entirely.

_One window. One chance. If I don't make it… there's no knowing what will happen._

'Come on, boy,' he gasped to his dog. 'Nearly there now.' Snowy woofed in acknowledgement, and Tintin felt a smile quirk onto his face despite the burning pain in his hamstrings. If he didn't make it, at least he'd still have Snowy. His wonderful dog, his first constant companion.

The docks were a baffling maze of cargo waiting to be crane-lifted onto ships, but Tintin knew that he'd make it to his destination if he kept the sun on his right and the city on his left. In fact, he was so focussed on the horizon that he didn't see the person step from between two piles of crates before he crashed into them.

They both hit the floor from the force of the impact, Tintin rolling with the momentum and rapidly regaining both his balance and his stride. Snowy followed after, using the stranger's back as a springboard while they lay on the floor.

'Sorry,' Tintin called over his shoulder as he continued to run – there was no time for his usual politeness, something he regretted. It wouldn't matter. He wouldn't be here much longer, if all went well.

_And it will._

The meeting had been so brief Tintin had not been able to get a proper look of the person he bowled over, instead only getting a the basics – blue jumper, a mop of unruly black hair, a face that looked strangely bare…

The stranger regained his feet with slightly less panache than Tintin, rubbing his hip where it had connected rather painfully with the hard floor. He watched as Tintin's silhouette vanished into the distance, remembering only a face red from both exertion and the sharp sea breeze, orange hair the colour of the sunset and a small white dog bounding after him.

()

'_Oh, it's terrible! A disaster!'_

_Captain Haddock and Tintin looked up from their breakfast of eggs and bacon to see a very distressed Calculus run into the dining room._

'_What's the matter, Professor?' Tintin asked, half-standing from his seat._

'_He's probably just lost his notes again,' Haddock huffed. 'Six months he's been shut up in that lab of his, and has he told us anything about what he's doing?'_

'_You're right, Tintin, I am mad as a hatter!' The professor ranted, pulling at his hair and goatee with tormented hands. 'That…. assistant of mine was a spy, this whole time! A Syldavian spy!'_

'_Who, Jacques?' Captain Haddock said, surprised, also rising from his seat and setting his paper down._

'_No, Jacques,' the Professor corrected. 'Honestly, he's been working with me for half a year, you'd think even you'd have learnt his name, Captain,' he admonished._

'_I said Jacques!' the Captain bellowed._

'_Yes, Jacques, no need to shout, I'm not deaf you know.'_

'_What about Jacques?' Tintin asked, getting quite frustrated with the circular conversation._

'_This morning I finished my machine! And he waited till I left to phone the Institute of Physics before stealing my blueprints and escaping!'_

'_Escaping? We need to go after him, then,' Tintin said, running to the Professor. _

_The Captain sat back down heavily, staring into space._

'_I liked Jacques,' he said vaguely. 'He had a drop of whisky and a good cigar with me occasionally. Seemed like a nice chap.'_

'_Where did he go, d'you think?' Tintin asked the Professor, who marked the seriousness of the occasion by pulling out his ear trumpet._

'_That is the problem, my dear boy,' Calculus said heavily. 'We need not to be asking 'where', but 'when'.'_

_()_

There is was. He could see it now. He was so _close_.

It wasn't much to look at really. A simple rectangle in the air, vaguely opaque and rippling from the effects of some ether wind.

'Quick Snowy!' he called, 'it's closing!' And it was – shrinking as though being dried up by the morning sun. When he had first seen it the portal had been around the size of a door, now it was no bigger than a window. And it kept on getting smaller.

_It's a bit like reverse perspective_.

Snowy picked up the pace, his small legs whirling madly as he raced alongside Tintin. Tintin watched as the portal grew smaller and smaller and smaller…

And he knew there was only one thing to do.

'Snowy, take these to the Professor!' he cried, pulling a sheaf of papers from his inside pocket and thrusting them at his dog, who grabbed them in his mouth and leapt for the portal. His tail passed through just before the portal winked out of existence, and the last thing Tintin heard was a surprised bark and Calculus and the Captain's voices calling his name before all that was left was the sound of the docks.

The air where the portal had been felt the same as everywhere else as Tintin passed through it, slowing to a stop.

Seagulls wheeled and screamed above his head as he stared at the rising sun. A sun twenty-five years younger than _his _sun.

He was stuck.

()

'_I don't like this,' the Captain grumbled, ruffling his hair and glaring mistrustfully at the machine. 'A time machine? Really, Cuthbert? Have you been at my whisky?'_

'_It is a little risky, of course, but I'm confident in Tintin's capabilities,' the Professor said, as he twiddled various dials and checked various read-outs. Tintin merely stared in amazement._

_It was a behemoth of a machine, all silver tubes and wires protruding from the main generator, which was covered in various knobs and switches. There was a large oscilloscope in the centre, the undulating line on the screen a florescent green. _

'_Let me get this straight,' Haddock said. 'Your good-for-nothing assistant stole the blueprints for this infernal machine and then used it to go back in time to sell the blueprints to the Syldavian Government. And you want to send Tintin after this troglodyte?' _

'_No, I'm going to send Tintin. The conversion of mass to energy is quite an exhausting process, and so younger cells would travel better than older ones.'_

'_Blistering barnacles, you mean he could be vaporised?'_

'_No, but he could be vaporised.' _

_Tintin blanched slightly._

'_But that is, of course, very unlikely,' Calculus hurried to add. 'Jacques made it though, after all.' He pressed a button and the machine began to whirr ominously, emitting little sparks of light because the build up of charge from the surrounding atmosphere. 'It's because of the humidity,' Cuthbert explained._

'_Are you sure you want to do this, lad?' Captain Haddock asked Tintin in an undertone as the Professor fussed over his invention._

'_No,' Tintin replied grimly, 'but do I really have a choice? If the blueprints fall into the hands of the Syldavian government, it could cause a world war.'_

'_I've left the coordinates exactly as Jacques set them,' Calculus chipped in suddenly, 'only I've set it so that you arrive a few minutes after him.'_

'_Why can't you set it so I get there before him?' Tintin asked. Calculus shook his head._

'_That would be meddling with the laws of causality, you see. If you get there before him, technically you left before him and therefore we would have known he was a spy before we did, which creates an impossible scenario. No no, it's safer to do this.'_

_Professor Calculus pulled a lever and turned a dial up towards the maximum setting. There was a sound not unlike a motorbike revving, and then a line appeared in the air before them, between two metal spheres about six foot above the ground and two foot apart. _

'_It looks like a bar of fog,' Tintin commented._

'_It's because the charged particles ionise the surrounding water vapour in the air and then attract them,' Calculus explained. 'Now, when you step through, you may suddenly feel incredibly heavy, but that should pass after a few seconds.'_

_Calculus moved a dial and the line of fog became a square, a rectangle, stretching downwards until it rested just above the floor._

'_Ok, Professor. I'm ready,' Tintin said. He called to Snowy, who had been eying the various machinery in a wary fashion, and the dog jumped into his arms._

'_Right, Tintin. Listen carefully,' the Professor said._

'_You're one to talk,' the Captain muttered._

'_Due to time travel being such an imprecise and unexplored science, you have only twenty-four hours to retrieve the blueprints and return through this portal. I can only keep it open for so long, and while it is open, it links the two times together and they move in tandem. Once it closes, finding you would be like fishing for a single sardine in the Mariana Trench. Exceedingly difficult, if not impossible.'_

'_So make sure you get back before it closes, lad,' Haddock said gruffly, patting Tintin's back in a manly show of affection. Tintin nodded._

'_Back in less than twenty-four hours. Right. See you in a day's time, then,' he said, waving at the Professor and the Captain before taking a deep breath and walking through the misty window, Snowy trembling slightly in his arms._

()

The sun was almost fully over the horizon as Tintin slumped onto a crate, staring at his shoes, his mind numb.

He'd missed it. The portal had closed and left him stuck in the past, a few miles and twenty-five years away from his home, his friends, his dog, his life.

_Snowy…_

For the first time in a long, long while, Tintin was completely, utterly alone.

'Excuse me, but I need to move that… oh. It's you.'

Tintin stared up into a face that looked strangely bare without a beard and fatigue lines. The blue jumper and the mop of hair marked the stranger as the one Tintin had bowled over just a few minutes before, but his eyes showed him to be someone very familiar. Tintin stared up into the face of a young Captain Haddock, and he found himself quite unable to speak.

'I was the one you knocked over earlier,' young Haddock prompted. Tintin nodded.

'Yes, I, err, I remember,' he said, hurriedly standing up. 'I'm sorry about that. I was in a bit of a rush for a … train.'

Young Haddock quirked an eyebrow.

'I'm guessing you didn't catch it,' he said. 'And didn't you have a dog with you? Used me as a trampoline.'

'Yes. I did. Not anymore.'

Haddock peered inquisitively at Tintin. Tintin stuck out his hand.

'I'm Tintin, by the way. Reporter.'

'Archibald Haddock,' Haddock said, grinning, shaking Tintin's proffered hand. 'Sailor.'

_Yes. I know._

'My friends call me Archie.'

_In the future they call you Captain._

Tintin nodded, and swallowed forcefully. He needed to get a grip, and work out what to do next. He wouldn't be able to do that here, staring at a painfully familiar yet oh-so-foreign face.

'Anyway, I should probably go and… catch the next train,' he said lamely, before walking listlessly off in the direction of Brussels city centre. Or at least, what would be the city centre in twenty-five years time. Tintin could only guess at how much had changed, and how much would be the same.

()

_There had been a moment when he'd felt like he was being pulled down to the ground, the force almost crushing in its strength. A groan escaped his lips and a whine emanated from Snow, but that's to the Professor's warning he dealt with it with relative ease._

_The worst part was the feeling of unravelling, as though he was going to float away and never come back._

_It started as a tingling sensation at the tips of his fingers and toes, a strange pins-and-needles sensation that tickled more than it itched. The feeling spread and left behind a sense of weightlessness, as though he were made of one giant ribbon that was slowly uncoiling, unwinding._

_If he had to put the feeling into an image, he thought as the sensation crept unpleasantly up his chest, it was like watching a jumped being unravelled. He panicked but soon the feeling had spread to his head and then he had no way to feel panicked._

_There was a moment of blissful, blinding white nothing…_

_And then he landed on solid ground, his knees buckling at the impact. He hit the ground with an ungainly thud and lay there for a while, trying to reorient himself. Snowy recovered fast, and was sniffing around when Tintin finally climbed to his feet. He knew immediately where he was._

_The Port of Brussels, by the river Senne. The docks._

_The sun had just climbed over the horizon._

()

**Finally got round to writing a Tintin fic.**

**Hope it doesn't disappoint.**

**My young Haddock is going to be a lot less mood-swingy than the older one. In my opinion he hasn't hit the gloomy clouds of middle age yet, and would be very different to the Haddock we all know and love. But then, not that different…**

**Next chapter there's more of Archie and the appearance of Tintin's old friend cholorform.**

**Meg **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I do not own Tintin. It belongs to Herge and Moulinsart.**

**Enjoy!**

The bar was really more of a pub, and stuffed full of sailors enjoying their last night on land before a long voyage. The drinks were cheap and plentiful, and the air hummed with drunk talking and shouting. The atmosphere balanced on a knife-edge, and the bartenders were tensed and wary – any minute the jolly sailor might metamorphose into the murderous pirate.

A small band played in the corner, but they were mainly ignored by the residents for alcohol. The musicians didn't seem to mind, and played quite happily to themselves without worrying about important things like, say, having their instruments in tune.

It was definitely a place infinitely more enjoyable if you were drunk, Tintin thought to himself as he cradled his ginger beer. He'd received a funny look when he placed his order, and for a moment he had considered ordering something stronger, something to… numb the pain.

Just before speaking, however, he'd stopped himself.

_Getting drunk won't solve anything, _he told himself sternly. And if he was stuck in this time indefinitely, he didn't want to end up like Captain Haddock in _his _time.

_There'd be no Tintin to rescue you from your drunken stupor, _he thought wryly.

Every now and then he glanced down at the floor, and for a second his mind would project the image of a white dog curled up at his feet. Then the mirage would disappear, and the loss would hit him again like a stone slab. Each time, it grew heavier.

As the patrons of the bar sunk deeper into drunkenness, Tintin sank lower into depression. For once, there was no villain to beat, no death trap to cleverly escape, no story to write. He was abandoned, stranded, on this island of a time with barely any money, no job, no place to stay, no friends, no Snowy.

Nothing.

He had nothing.

Even in the beginning, when he'd had nothing, he'd had Snowy.

He was utterly alo-

'What's this?'

A hand swooped down in front of his face and he started. The hand snatched his ginger beer and Tintin turned to see young Captain Haddock taking a swig from the bottle. Almost immediately his face wrinkled in disgust and he spat out his mouthful.

'_Ginger beer?' _he said in disbelief. 'How can you even sit in here without being completely drunk?'

'Easily,' Tintin replied grumpily, forgetting for a second that this wasn't _his _Captain Haddock.

'Well, I beg to disagree, because you look like you need a drink.'

Haddock vanished into the crowd, and Tintin hoped he wouldn't come back. It was almost worse, having his friend there when he wasn't his friend, not yet.

Unfortunately he was back almost immediately, clutching two bottles with a distinctive odour.

'If you're going to get drunk and miserable, it's better not to do it alone,' he said, pushing a bottle towards Tintin. Tintin took it but didn't drink, watching instead as Haddock took a swig of his own. He was so different from the Haddock Tintin knew – he drank like he enjoyed it, not like it was oxygen and he needed it to live. He was just as friendly as Captain Haddock, but in youth this translated to charisma, helped by his mischievous eyes sparkling underneath his mop of hair.

'What kind of a name's Tintin, anyway?' he asked, grinning. 'Tintin Lutin? That Rabier drawing?'

'Just Tintin,' he replied.

'Short for Augustine? Martin?'

'No. Just Tintin.'

'Well, just Tintin, aren't you going to drink up?'

Tintin stared at the bottle, wondering how much harm it could do. Just a little sip…

_Now you sound just like the Captain._

'Go on,' Haddock coaxed. 'I promise it won't kill you.'

'It's just that my friend used to be a drunk, and the only time I ever got drunk was when I was…'

He trailed off, realising how ludicrous the rest of his sentence would have sounded. _When I was about to be shot for taking bombs into San Theodoros, even though it wasn't my suitcase. _Tintin knew it was true, and it sounded ridiculous even to him.

'When?' Haddock asked, looking genuinely interested.

'It's not important,' Tintin said, 'don't worry about- Captain! Watch out!'

A small fight had broken out on the table near them, and a drunken man had been about to plough into Haddock's back. Haddock dodged the man with grace Tintin had never seen his older counterpart employ, and the man fell onto their table, where he groaned and looked about with bleary eyes, searching for revenge.

'You… you punched m'face,' he said, righting himself with difficulty and pointing unsteadily at Tintin. Tintin sighed.

'It wasn't me.' But he knew there was no point reasoning with a man _that _drunk.

When the clumsy punch launched towards his head, Tintin was ready for it. Almost lazily he dodged and returned with a stronger, more precise punch of his own and caught the man, who was almost twice his size, right between the eyes.

He fell like a tall tree, slowly and ponderously at first, swaying slightly in surprise, but then gathered speed as the floor rushed closer. The thump shook the entire room and Tintin looked up into Haddock's impressed eyes.

'You don't punch like a reporter.'

'You don't drink like a sailor,' Tintin pointed out Haddock's bottle, which was still almost full. Young Haddock shrugged.

'Pub brawls are always so much more fun when you're sober,' he grinned, before turning and decking a man who had been sneaking up behind him, bottle in hand.

The fight spread through the pub like a violent earthquake tremor, with Tintin and Haddock the unfortunate occupants of the epicentre. Tintin soon got bored of dodging flailing arms and dived under the nearest sturdy-looking table, hoping to wait out the brawl and then return to his ginger beer and moping.

He wasn't the only one with the hiding strategy. He came, once again, face to face with young Haddock, who grinned wider than ever.

'You know, Tintin, you're someone I could get to like.'

'Thanks.'

'But why d'you call me 'Captain?''

_Crumbs_. Tintin had been hoping young Haddock would forget about his momentary slip-up.

'You just… remind me of my friend,' he mumbled lamely. 'He's a sailor too. A Captain.'

'Oh.' Young Haddock seemed satisfied with the explanation. 'I'd like to be a Captain one day. Like my father, and my grandfather and… well, just about everyone in my family really. I've been working my way up from the lowliest jobs onboard any ship I could find willing to take me.'

'Have you got a job now?' Tintin asked. This might be a bonus…

'Yeah, on the **Icarus**. Sails tomorrow on the noon tide to Span. Why? Looking for one yourself?'

'As a matter of fact, I am,' Tintin replied.

'Well, there's certainly room for you – they're struggling to fill crews at the moment. It's all about the work on land, in the factories. No one wants a life on the sea.' Haddock glanced sideways at Tintin, and the brawl raged above their heads. Something smashed on the table above them and a bucket rolled past their hiding place.

'Thanks, Capt… Haddock,' Tintin said, relieved. It was the answer to his prayers – lodging, food, a job, and he knew his way around a ship. Captain Haddock had seen to that.

'I told you before, my friends call me Archie,' young Haddock grinned. 'And I think I want to befriend someone with a punch like yours.'

()

The Captain and the Professor stared disbelievingly at the patch of empty air where the portal had been only seconds before. Snowy, who had landed, skidded and turned, barked a couple of times, the blueprints fluttering from his mouth onto the floor, where they lay forgotten.

'Tintin?' the Captain gasped out into the painful silence. Snowy barked again, not quite understanding where Tintin had disappeared too. He had been running right behind Snowy, hadn't he? So why had he not arrived?

'The poor dear boy,' Calculus said sadly, shaking his head and turning away. 'If only the world knew what he has done for them-'

'Listen, you old goat, get this machine started again! Find him!' Haddock yelled, grasping Calculus by the shoulders and shaking him. Tears threatened to fall from the old sailor's eyes and he blinked them back harshly, focussing all his grief into anger.

'I know we can't find him, Captain! That's what makes it so very sad!' Calculus shouted back. Haddock rolled his eyes but released the Professor. It wasn't his fault, after all.

'Come back lad,' he said softly, looking back at the dormant machine. 'Do the impossible, like you normally do, and come home.'

Snowy woofed quietly beside him, obviously hoping for the same thing.

()

_Tendrils of sunlight forced their way through the cloudy morning sky as Tintin surveyed the docks. He'd been so confident back in Marlinspike, so sure of himself. Now, he didn't have a clue where to start looking for Jacques and the blueprints._

'_If I was a Syldavian Spy, Snowy, and had important documents in my possession, where would I go?' Tintin pondered out loud, watching a burly man attach a crate to a crane._

_Snowy barked softly and continued to sniff around on the floor, his tail wagging ever so slightly. Tintin stared at the ships rolling and creaking in the port, wondering if a young Captain Haddock was among them, starting his sailing career. Perhaps a younger Calculus was still working for his PhD. At least there was no chance of running into his younger self – he wouldn't be born for another couple of years. Twenty-five years back, the read-out on the machine had said. _

_It felt strangely unreal, knowing you were in a time before you actually existed. It made him feel like he could do anything. He was no one – there was no Tintin yet, not in this Brussels. No famous Boy Reporter, and no enemies. It was like starting from scratch, all over again._

_No one would know his name._

_Tintin was torn from his reverie by a volley of excited barks._

'_What is it, Snowy? Have you caught a scent?' He asked, crouching down beside his diminutive dog. Snowy woofed happily and trotted off, his nose pressed against the floor, and Tintin followed him with anticipation building in his chest. This was what he lived for. The excitement of the chase, the triumph of out-smarting the bad guys, the closure of writing an article._

_Because of the sense of safety being in another time had given Tintin, he didn't notice the danger until it was too late. Snowy was circling, letting out confused barks, his nose leading him nowhere. Tintin watched, concerned._

'_Have you lost the scent, boy? Where's he go-'_

_A strong hand pressed a cloth against Tintin's mouth; another prevented him from struggling._

_Chloroform._

_Tintin tried not to breathe it in, but eventually his body forced him to take a breath and the cloying sweetness entered his lungs, clouding his brain and blearing his eyes._

_The darkness came swiftly after the bitter taste of failure._

_()_

'This one?'

'Yeah. That's for the **Icarus** as well. And all those down that side,' Archie gestured to the crates stacked neatly along a low brick wall, marked with a black cross and waiting to be lifted onto the huge iron ship lying patiently in the Senne.

Tintin grabbed the crane hook and deftly fastened it to the ties, before tugging to check the tightness and then signalling the go-ahead to the crane operator. The crate began to ascend skywards slowly, beginning its long journey to Spain.

'So what's in the crates?' Tintin asked, staring distrustfully at the cargo, thoughts of crab tins containing drugs dancing through his mind. Archie seemed to notice his anxiety.

'Beer mainly, and lace, and cloth, and…' Archie paused and glanced around, in case anyone was listening in, before leaning closer to Tintin and whispering 'and Allan told me there's a rumour going round there's diamonds hidden somewhere in this lot.'

_What?_

Archie misinterpreted Tintin's look of shock and laughed. 'I know! I can barely believe it either! Diamonds on this ship… I mean, it's not much to look at.'

It wasn't, this was true. The **Icarus **looked like it was only a few short voyages away from the scrapheap. Every joint and rivet looked fragile, as though the tiniest breath of wind could buckle it.

'_Allan?' _Tintin breathed in horror. Archie gave him a strange look.

'Yeah, Allan. He's a good sailor, and a good mate. We work together sometimes; you tend to meet the same people in this line of work. Why, d'you know him?'

'Oh, er, no. Sorry. Probably isn't the person I was thinking of,' Tintin blustered, trying to hide his mistake. It had been happening too often. He was messing up, potentially ruining the timeline. He should never have told young Haddock –_Archie _– his name, his _real _name. It made everything just so _confusing_. What if he did get back and found he'd unravelled the time lines, or something equally drastic?

It was just that he had never felt so alone, so abandoned, so hopeless as he had just after the portal had closed. He had been a mess, and unwilling to let go of the one slim thing that tied him to his old life. Even if Archie was so different to _his _Captain it was like being with a completely different person.

Still, it was nice to have a friend, even if he was going to regret it later.

'I can't imagine it; diamonds, on that heap of junk.' Archie was staring at the crates as though trying to see through the wood to the possible treasure beneath. 'To think that we'll be on the same ship as – blistering barnacles! Look out!'

For a moment Tintin thought that Captain Haddock – _his _Haddock – had suddenly appeared, shouting a warning, and he froze, for once in his life unable to move or react, too concentrated on finding the Captain than on the crane crashing down towards him.

Archie slammed into his side, pulling him over and down. They rolled about eight metres with the momentum and the world span and blurred in Tintin's eyes, the disorientating effect completed by the horrific crash made by the crane.

'That was a close one,' Archie breathed, scrambling quickly onto his feet. 'The baboon operating that thing deserves to be sacked. We could have been killed!' He offered Tintin a weatherworn hand and Tintin took it, heaving himself onto his feet. Archie, satisfied Tintin was undamaged, strode away towards the toppled, smashed crane, yelling at the driver in outrage.

'Bashi-bazouk! Nincompoop! Did you actually learn how to use that or did you just get in and have a go, you…'

Archie's shouted insults faded away into background noise as Tintin stared at the heap of scrap metal that had once been a crane.

Someone was out to kill him.

**A/N: I intend to keep the relationship between the Captain and Tintin purely platonic, despite what it may appear. I love their friendship dynamic so much and I hope I do it justice.**


	3. Chapter 3

()

Marlinspike had felt big even with the three of them living there, but now Captain Haddock felt like a lone pea rattling around in a kettle drum. The halls had never felt so empty, the rooms had never felt so cavernous, and the pictures all seemed to stare at him distrustfully, as though he didn't quite belong there.

He kept to his routine. He woke up at around nine, and shuffled lazily to the dining room in his bed robe and slippers. He pushed open the door.

'Morning Tint-'

He sat down, trying not to look at the empty place at the table.

Nestor would walk in carrying breakfast for two. The Captain knew that Nestor hadn't forgotten that Tintin was… currently away, but perhaps the butler hoped that if he brought in enough food for two, two would be sitting in the dining room.

It made no sense on a logical level, but neither did the way the Captain greeted an empty room every morning.

'Anything in the paper this morning, Nestor?' he asked, his voice ringing loudly and awkwardly in the silence.

'Not that I could see, sir,' Nestor replied, and then he excused himself, as he always did, escaping to the kitchens where he had always been alone.

About half an hour later, when the Captain's tea had gone stone cold and he'd reached the last few pages of the newspaper, Snowy slumped in through the door, padding dejectedly across the room and jumping onto the chair beside Haddock. The Captain stroked his head absent-mindedly and fed him a bit of bacon.

Calculus always forgot about breakfast. He spent even more time than ever out in his laboratory by the walls of Marlinspike, fiddling with that thrice-damned machine. The Captain occasionally brought him meals and, if he was feeling up to it, tried to have a conversation.

Haddock spent the morning cataloguing some of the old shipping books in the library.

He had his lunch at precisely half one.

He answered any letters at two.

He took his usual afternoon walk at half two, Snowy plodding at his heels, half-heartedly barking at the occasional squirrel. But his heart wasn't in it.

Sometimes a magpie flew across Haddock's path.

In the evening he sat down in front of the fire with the telly on. He intermittently found his eyes wandering towards the whisky on the drinks cabinet.

He went to bed at half ten, unable to stay up any longer, wondering how his life had drained to black and white so quickly.

The bottle of whisky remained untouched.

()

The room smelt musty and creaked loudly in the night, rocking gently in the swell and ebb of the river currents. The air was chilly and dusty and the bunks were lumpy and uncomfortable.

Tintin couldn't sleep.

Of course, he'd slept in worse places before, and the creaking didn't bother him much. The scratchy blankets were warm, and the rumbling snores coming from the bunk above him made it feel like home. If he closed his eyes, it could be _his _Captain Haddock snoring in the room with him, dreaming happy dreams of a comfortable life at Marlinspike.

No, Tintin couldn't sleep because his mind kept on whirring, evaluating the possibilities of getting home. He couldn't stop thinking about it, and it was driving him crazy.

Eventually he slipped from between his blankets and placed his feet softly on the floor, careful not to wake Archie as he left the room, walking quietly between bunks containing other men taking a job on the **Icarus**_**.**_

'Come on, Snowy,' he whispered out of habit. There was no quiet answering bark or sound of padding feet on the hard floor, and he had to swallow hard past the lump in his throat.

He felt minutely better in the cold fresh air out on deck, where the stars shone brightly out of the clear, cloudless night sky and the moon shone off the black, roiling waters of the Senne. He took a deep breath and leant over a cold, rusty railing, staring at the small, brightly lit city.

'You up 'ere for a smoke too?' asked a voice from behind him. Tintin started, and jumped around. Behind him stood a young man with a familiar, rather distinctive nose. He was wearing a long coat and clutching a small, unlit cigarette between his large fingers.

'Oh, no,' Tintin said quickly. 'Just… couldn't sleep.'

'Pity,' the young man – _Allan _– sighed. 'I was 'oping to bum a light. Mine's gorn and fallen out me pocket.' As if to prove his words, Allan pulled the inside of his pockets out and showed Tintin.

'Sorry, but I don't have a lighter,' Tintin said, wishing that Allan would go away and leave him to mope in peace.

'S'alright,' Allan said, coming to lean on the rail beside him. Tintin stifled a groan. There was silence for a while as they stared at the city of Brussels.

'You friends with 'addock, then?' Allan asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

'Not really,' Tintin admitted. 'We only met today.' He glanced at his watch. 'Yesterday,' he amended.

'Strange,' Allan commented, still staring at the flickering lights on the water. 'Archie don't usually make friends very quickly. I mean to say,' he paused, pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully, 'this must be the fourth or fifth time I've worked with 'im, and 'e's been friendly and that, but never… chummy. You two ge' along like a 'ouse on fire.'

'He reminds me of a friend,' Tintin said shortly. 'What's it to you?'

'Nothin', nothin'. I was just bein' friendly,' Allan said, glancing at Tintin.

'Yes, well, I'm going to head back to bed,' Tintin said, turning away from the city (not _his _city) and making for the stairs down to the sleeping quarters.

'I'll see yer tomorrow,' Allan called after him.

'Not if I can help it,' Tintin muttered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. There was something about Allan that made his skin crawl, and he didn't like knowing what the man was capable of.

Back on deck, Allan watched Tintin's retreating back thoughtfully, before spitting the thoroughly chewed and completely mangled cigarette into the Senne, where it bobbed a bit on the surface before sinking slowly underneath.

()

'… _do with him now?"_

'…_somewhere he can't cause any trouble…'_

'… _what about where they take the…'_

'… _careful, now…'_

_The voices blurred in and out of focus as Tintin's head lolled on his shoulders. He tried to scratch his nose and found his wrists were tied tightly with a rough rope. There was cold metal behind him, propping up his back, and cold metal beneath him, chilling his legs through his plus-fours. Both surfaces were vibrating quite violently._

_That meant something, but in his foggy and bewildered head the answer was not forthcoming._

_Somewhere in the background, a dog growled._

'_S-snowy?' he muttered, trying to prise open his eyes. It took a herculanean effort, but eventually he managed._

'_Look, guv, 'e's waking up!'_

'_Quick, knock him out again! He mustn't see where we're going!'_

_That was Jacques' voice, Tintin thought blearily, and then he thought, Jacques! There was something important, something he had to remember-_

_And then a cloth was pressed roughly against his mouth, and before his brain told him not to breathe his lungs had gasped in a mouthful of thick, cloying air… and the world swam and darkened once more._

()

'Captain! Captain!'

The professor's thin, reedy voice called out shrilly, running along the path to Marlinspike. Captain Haddock leaned his head out of the dining room window at the call, only to be greeted with the strange sight of Calculus running as fast as he could, his little legs whirring comically as he bustled along.

'What is it, Cuthbert? Haddock yelled back, hope rising in his throat.

'The hair! The hair!' the little man squealed as he ran towards the front doors.

Captain Haddock didn't wait for Calculus to reach him in the dining room; instead, he jumped to his feet and sprinted out of the room, sending an incoming Nestor spinning in his wake.

'Sorry Nestor!' he called over his shoulder as he ran.

Cuthbert entered Marlinspike Hall just as Captain Haddock left. Since the laws of physics state that no two bodies can exist in the same space at the same time, this resulted in a collision.

A rather painful one.

'Thundering typhoons, Cuthbert, will you look where you're going?' Haddock groaned, sitting up and gingerly feeling his head.

Calculus didn't bother replying, but instead stood and triumphantly raised his right hand, clenched in a fist.

Sticking out from his fingers was a thin, translucent dog hair.

About an hour later Captain Haddock found himself in the Professor's lab, being talked and gesticulated at. But Calculus might as well have been speaking Chinese, because he was not any the wiser to the breakthrough than he had been earlier.

'… I found this hair from Snowy on his cushion in the lounge, and when I compare it to a hair freshly plucked-' Snowy whined slightly, 'I discovered a few key discrepancies in the electron configuration of the hair.'

Haddock nodded, grunted, glanced at the complicated machinery and even more complicated equations on the chalkboard in the corner.

'I ran both through this new type of microscope I thought would give an accurate picture of the surface of the hairs by using the number of electrons crossing over to the probe-'

'Cuthbert, can you just get to the point?' Haddock groaned, wishing he'd brought his pipe. Calculus' eyes lit up.

'Explain it to you? Why certainly, my dear fellow. It is, after all, a very important discovery in the field of quantum physics. It relies solely on the fact that electrons, while still particles, are also clusters of waves, the amplitude of which give the probability of the electron being found in a particular place.'

'So… they're a ball that's been smudged?' Haddock hazarded, staring at the hasty diagram on the blackboard. Calculus ignored him.

'Going on from this, if the tip of the probe of the microscope is no more than an atom or two across, and barely a few femtometres from the surface of the hair, then some of the waves from the electrons will spread across to the probe and bingo! An electron will pass from the hair to the probe. The smaller the gap between the probe and the hair, the more electrons will pass over.'

'I don't see what the point of this-'

'Listen, Captain, and I will explain. On the first dog hair, one that has not travelled through time, the surface is as expected, a simple terrain easily navigated by the probe.' Calculus pinned a picture to the blackboard, showing what looked like a 3D picture of a hilly landscape in greyscale.

'The second hair, however, shows irregularities in the wave formation of the electrons that can only have been caused by the time-travel.'

Haddock peered at the second picture, which looked not unlike a field of spikes.

'I don't understand what it means,' he said finally.

'It's really quite simple, Captain,' Calculus said, pointing to the pictures once more and holding up a hair triumphantly. Snowy cringed backwards slightly, the place where the hair had been pulled out still twinging slightly.

'Really? Because to me it just looks like a fancy photograph of the countryside and one of a forest of needles,' Haddock said grumpily. 'How does this help us find Tintin?'

'If you'd let me speak, Captain, I'd explain,' Cuthbert sighed. 'As I said previously, it really is very simple. The electrons have been malformed, squashed, if you like, by the strenuous activity of passing beyond the limit of the speed of light, causing them to defy all laws and appear where they are least likely to.'

'And?' Haddock grumped.

'If we send other hairs through the machine to other times, we can cross-reference the shape of the electrons and narrow down Tintin's position. Then we can successfully pinpoint the exact moment he entered the past, fast forward and pick him up just after it closed for the first time!'

Haddock tried to sort this statement out in his brain, and failed. Instead, he used Cuthbert's bright, excited face to work out that Tintin might be coming home soon.

'You're brilliant, you know that!' Haddock grinned, springing around the lab like a young lamb. 'Don't worry lad; we're coming to get you!'

()

Snores and sighs reverberated through the iron belly of the ship as it rocked gently on the swells of the river. A few seagulls broke the silence with a harsh, serrated cry – but other than the birds, the only sounds were the slapping of the waves on the hull and the creaking groan of old joins straining with cargo.

_Clang_

_Clang_

_Clang_

Every footstep was unnecessarily loud and made the man wince. Tonight there was a risk- tonight there were more ears, more eyes, more witnesses.

The bowels of the ship were the only sensible rendezvous, nestled amongst the boxes of silk and cotton and wool and beer. It was a veritable maze for all but the most seasoned of sailors – and he was confident in his ability.

He'd been on the seas since he was a babe in arms.

The cigar smoke of his companion was the red string to lead him through the maze, and the tangy scent did not lead him astray. The other, older man was slumped against a crate, his head surrounded by a cloud of smoke, his voice rough and low.

'D'you 'ave em? The princesses?'

The man did not move from his relaxed position.

'Yes,' he grunted out.

'Let me see 'em first,' the first, younger speaker said. 'I need to know you're not cheatin' me.'

A hand stuck out of the thick fug; it opened to reveal the prise, glittering in the sparking glow of the cigar.

'Blimey, will you look at that,' he breathed, bending in closer to look. The hand snapped shut and withdrew.

'Not yet.'

'Soon,' he said belligerently.

'Soon. But not yet.'

()

**A/N: Can you tell I'm revising for Physics? BTW, some is real physics, some blatantly pulled out of thin air. Such a microscope does exist, but was invented in 1981… so Calculus wouldn't have had one. I imagine it goes without saying that time travel has not yet been invented and, I'm sorry to say, the future in that area looks bleak. Also, a computer would be needed to analyse the data from the scanning tunnelling microscope Calculus uses to view the surface of the dog hair, something he would not have had. And, it only works on metals with free-moving electrons (I think). So don't complain that the physics is wrong… because I know it is. And if you feel the need to correct me, make sure you're also doing Physics at a university level because otherwise you don't trump me in knowledge (unless you just like reading around). The phenomenon here is called quantum tunnelling, if anyone wants to know.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed!**

**And forgive me Allan's horrific accent, but I got carried away. **


	4. Chapter 4

()

_The second time he came around he felt refreshed, bright-eyed and alert. He lifted his head from where it was slumped against the wall and peered around in the darkness, looking for Snowy. There was no sign of the little white dog, and Tintin desperately hoped his long-time companion was still alive and happy. Or, at least still alive._

_The damp concrete had seeped into the underside of his plus-fours, making him feel uncomfortably chilly. The rough ropes around his ankles and wrists made any movement on the painful side of inconvenient._

_Usually he would call for Snowy to chew through the ropes, but as Snowy was sadly not available, he would have to figure a way out by himself._

_He cast an eye around the dingy cell, looking for anything he could use that wasn't too far away. Unfortunately, the thugs that had chloroformed him seemed to be of a higher general IQ than the usual culprits, and there were no handy nails sticking out of the wall at a convenient wrist height, no give in the ropes, no dumb guard at the door._

_Just a small, damp, dripping concrete cell, no windows, one (most probably locked) door, and tight, strong ropes._

_Oh crumbs._

_Still, he wasn't giving up. He would bide his time, wait until they brought him food, and take them unawares. First, however, he'd have to stand up despite the constricting ropes._

_It took him roughly two hours (although he couldn't be entirely sure, without a clock or the position of the sun to give him an indication of time passing) to roll himself to his feet. The ropes scraped though his socks and he was sure they had broken through the skin, but he just gritted his teeth and pushed past the pain. The ropes definitely broke the skin on his wrists and the blood trickled warmly down his hands and dripped off the end of his fingers._

_He hit a problem when he finally managed to stand on his feet, leaning against the wall for support and breathing heavily from his exertions. With his ankles bound, he couldn't manage much more than a rather ungainly hop which sent him almost immediately tumbling to the floor again. Luckily he caught himself just in time before he undid hours of work and effort._

_A flash of inspiration hit him as he stood awkwardly, staring at the dripping ceiling. Perhaps he could loosen the ropes by soaking them in the puddles forming on the floor. If that didn't work, then maybe the soggy ropes would disintegrate when rubbed against the rough concrete walls._

_It wasn't much of a plan, Tintin thought as he lowered himself to the floor again to roll the ropes in the puddles, but it was, at least, better than staring disconsolately at the floor, wondering how he'd get back to the docks before the time window closed._

_()_

The air was cold and fresh on the morning of departure, but Tintin breathed it in with relish after the stuffy sleeping quarters in the ship. Out on deck with a stiff breeze playfully tugging at his unruly ginger quiff, that was what he enjoyed, the true essence of adventure.

He was joined much later by sleep-ruffled, bloodshot and bleary-eyed sailors who had all somewhat overindulged the night before, drinking their last land ale before departing to Spain the next noon. They weren't in the mood for conversation, simply grunting a morning greeting before heading off to work. There was still much to be done before departure.

Tintin waited for Archie to come up on deck, as he was unsure as to what his job actually was. As he waited, Allan climbed up past him, and Tintin noticed the large dark rings hanging under the young crook's eyes, and the ashy greyness of his face. Something told Tintin that Allan hadn't followed Tintin's example of going to bed; Tintin wondered what exactly Allan had been doing after their night-time conversation.

Allan gave Tintin a nod as he passed, but Tintin refrained from returning the greeting. There was just something so… repellent about the man, so slimy and indigestible that the normally well-mannered boy couldn't bear to even contemplate acting friendly towards him.

'Ah, Tintin!' Archie seemed to be in good shape – at least the night of constant snoring appeared to have been worth it.

'Morning, Archie,' Tintin smiled. 'What are we supposed to be doing this morning?'

'Checking the last lot of cargo before we set sail. If we bugger off with someone else's stuff there'd be a right hoo-hah. And believe me, we really don't want that just before we leave.'

Tintin followed Archie down to the hold, where the newly stacked crates awaited their careful scrutiny. Tintin sniffed the air curiously.

'Smells like someone's been smoking down here.'

'Well, whoever it was, they shouldn't have been. Captain Jenson only lets people smoke on deck on the **Icarus. **He's very particular about his ship, even if it is an old pile of junk barely worth the scrapyard.' As Archie spoke, however, he stroked the metal wall fondly. 'Still, I have some good memories from voyages on this old thing.'

Tintin sniffed the still, musty air of the hold again and thought about Allan's query for a lighter the night before. But why would Allan have been down the hold at that time of night?

And now he came to think about it, Allan had been holding common brand cigarettes. The smell that hung heavily in the air of the hold had a more expensive, cigar-like smell to it, not unlike Captain Haddock's odd indulgence at Marlinspike.

But thinking of the Captain and Marlinspike depressed Tintin somewhat, sending a dull ache into his chest, so he shook the memory away and immersed himself in the (rather boring) job of checking the cargo. Archie was good company, however, full of stories about his time at sea, and even though Tintin had heard nearly all of them before, from _his _Captain, they were still enjoyable, fresher somehow, and passed the time pleasantly.

Before he knew it, it was noon.

()

The galley was packed full to bursting by the time Tintin and Archie made their way there. The air was warm and close, and they had to fight their way through a mass of bodies just to make their way to the counter.

'First day down,' Archie grinned, with stunning cheerfulness. Tintin could not quite muster a believable smile. One day down, around twenty-five years to go. If he was even in the same timeline.

'Yeah,' he said, half-heartedly, and Archie seemed satisfied. It seemed that this Haddock, just like his older counterpart, loved being on the sea.

The food was nothing special, but Tintin was starving and wolfed it down, while Archie took his time, savouring each mouthful and looking around happily.

'This is the life for me, Tintin,' he said happily. 'A life on the sea – heaven.'

Tintin couldn't see what was so heavenly about a small cramped galley on a ship held together by rust and prayers, but he didn't want to burst Archie's happy little bubble of first day voyage euphoria.

Tintin needn't have worried about bursting Archie's bubble; moments later Allan slid onto the bench beside him and elbowed his side.

''ave you thought any more on that business proposition I asked you about?' Allan muttered. Archie's smile popped and deflated.

'I told you, I don't want to get involved,' he said, sounding slightly anxious. 'I don't want to do anything that might risk-'

'Your loss,' Allan shrugged. Then he turned to Tintin, tipping him a wink. 'You fancy gettin' in on this, tuftie?'

Tintin glanced at Archie, who was staring intently at his food but shaking his head ever so slightly.

'I'm fine, thank you,' he said stiffly. Allan shrugged again, and stood up.

'I'll see you gents later then,' he said, unruffled, as he weaved his way through the crush of people.

'What was all that about?' Tintin asked Archie as soon as Allan was out of sight.

'Allan's a good chap,' Archie said, almost defensively, 'but he has… money troubles. And some of his money-making schemes… well… they're not always completely above board. And if I want to become a Captain one day, I need a clean record.'

'What kind of scheme is this one?' Tintin asked, intrigued despite himself, his reporter's nose sniffing for a story. Archie looked around shiftily, before leaning in closer and lowering his voice.

'You know the diamonds I mentioned yesterday?'

'Yes?' Tintin said eagerly.

'Apparently it wasn't just a rumour. Allan is in on a plan to transport these diamonds to a buyer in Spain for a wealthy man in Brussels, and he asked me if I wanted in on it. At first I thought it was a fairy story, but it turns out there actually are diamonds.'

'Someone trusts Allan with real _diamonds_?' Tintin asked incredulously. Archie grinned slightly.

'No. I don't think anyone would trust a sailor with diamonds. No, apparently he was going to stow someone on board the ship. I didn't want to get mixed up in it all, so I didn't ask for details.'

Archie turned back to his food, obviously rather uncomfortable with the conversation. Tintin understood he was legitimately worried about his record. It was Archie's dream to be a Captain one day; Tintin wished he could tell him that he would achieve his dream.

But he'd already messed too much with the timeline. Not to mention Archie would never believe him.

Tintin had finished his dinner much sooner than Archie, and he as he waited for his friend to finish savouring the colourless mush on his plate Tintin scanned the galley absent-mindedly, committing the faces of his fellow crew members to memory. A shadowed figure in the corner caught his eye and he looked over just in time to see a head vanishing from the room.

He recognised that head, although for a few seconds he couldn't quite remember…

'Jacques!' he exclaimed suddenly, exploding from his bench and sending the last of Archie's food flying into the air.

'Tintin, what…?' Archie began, but Tintin was already halfway to the door, vaulting over any obstacle that stood in his way.

If Jacques was on the **Icarus, **the danger was suddenly very real. Tintin was, after all, the only one in this timeline who knew the full extent of Jacques' crimes, and that made him a threat. Suddenly, the mystery of the tipping crane was no longer such a brain-teaser.

Despite the danger, Tintin still found himself pursuing the villain. It was a strange instinct, running _towards _the man who was trying to kill him, but he found he _hated _Jacques, more than he had ever hated anyone before. There was a boiling pit of rage in his stomach, hissing and spitting. Jacques was, overall, the reason for his being stranded in the past, away from his friends, his _family. _Some dark part of Tintin wanted him to pay.

As he cleared the door to the galley and pushed his way down the narrow, dark corridor to the deck, following the clanging sound of Jacques' footsteps, he heard someone following him, thumping along behind him in a chase of solidarity. He chanced a look behind him and saw that Archie was thundering along, a look of confusion on his face that was nonetheless overshadowed by his determination. Tintin was suddenly swamped with a rush of affection that quieted the lava pit of rage in his stomach somewhat. Even in this form, the Captain would follow him anywhere, even when unsure of the details. Even young, Archibald Haddock's loyalty remained his most admirable quality.

But Tintin turned his thoughts quickly back to the rapidly fleeing spy.

The chase was on.

()

_When the lock clicked, Tintin tensed._

_When the handle turned, Tintin took a tiny step forward, readying himself._

_When the man walked in, clutching a small handgun, Tintin pounced._

_After a brief tussle, the man was on the cold concrete floor, unconscious, and Tintin held the handgun tightly and glanced at the door._

'_First,' he said, 'I'll have to keep you from telling anyone about my escape.' The unconscious man, surprisingly, did not reply, and put up no struggle as Tintin tied his wrists and ankles together with the now damp rope, finally finishing by gagging the man with his own shirt._

'_There,' he said, rocking back on his heels, surveying his handiwork. 'That should keep you busy.'_

_Then he walked out of his cell, closing and locking the door behind him._

_He had blueprints to get back, and a time window to catch._

_()_

**A/N: Sorry about the wait, but I'm on study leave and should actually be revising, so I haven't had much time. I had to write more, though, because it's all just starting to get interesting. Hope you enjoyed, and if you did or didn't, tell me **


	5. Chapter 5

_()_

Tintin eventually slowed and stopped, his breathing harsh and serrated as he searched for a sign of Jacques. But it was no use; the sneaky Syldavian spy seemed to have slipped into one of his many bolt holes, and Tintin had to admit defeat. He'd lost the battle.

The war, however, was a completely different matter.

'If you don't mind me asking,' Archie huffed as he ran to a stop beside him, 'who were we chasing? And why?'

'It's a long story,' Tintin admitted, still scanning the immediate area, looking for the tiniest hint, the smallest clue.

Archie gestured to the sides of the ship. 'It's not like I'm going anywhere.'

Tintin told him an abbreviated version of the tale on Deck, where the dusk breeze ruffled their hair and a few seagulls wheeled and banked in the air above them. They were still close to shore.

'So this… Jacques… stole the blueprints from a Professor,' Archie said, trying to work it out in his head.

'Yes.'

'And you got them back.'

'Yes.'

'So why-'

'He's the reason I… missed my train.'

Archie nodded, understanding dawning on his face. It was obvious that Archie suspected 'missing the train' was code for something a lot worse, but he didn't question it, and for that Tintin was inordinately grateful.

'But why is he on the **Icarus**?' Archie asked, brow wrinkled in confusion. 'Do you still have the blueprints?'

'No; my dog took them somewhere safe. I have no idea why he's on this ship, but can only suspect he's after me.'

'Why?' Archie's face was incredulous.

'I know about him being a Syldavian spy, and I could easily expose him once we get to our destination.'

'It all sounds a bit far-fetched to me.'

'Trust me, people have tried to bump me off for less,' Tintin said, his voice weary with experience. 'It sort of comes with the job… being naturally curious.'

'Being nosy, you mean.' Archie was smiling – it was a joke, but Tintin could barely muster up a smile. For a moment there, Archie had sounded just like the Captain.

'I suppose.'

'Hey, wait a minute- that crane, yesterday! You mean to say-'

'That was Jacques. Yes. And I have no doubt that he will try again.'

()

'I've been compromised.'

'What d'you mean?'

'You didn't tell me _Tintin _was on this ship!' In the man's anger he blew out a hefty amount of cigar smoke directly into his accomplice's face, and the young man coughed and spluttered.

'_Who?_'

'Tintin! Small young man, annoying white dog, tufted ginger hair… ring any bells?'

'Oh, you mean 'addock's new friend? I 'aven't seen a dog, though, if that's what you're askin'.'

In the darkness it was almost impossible to see facial expressions, but the pure exasperation and anger burning from the older man seemed to beam directly to the young sailor's brain.

'I'm... sorry, but I _told _you not to leave the hold while we're at sea! If they find's out I've 'elped a _stowaway _on board-'

'You seriously expected me to stay in this dark hole for the entire voyage?' The sneer was apparent in the older man's voice. 'You forget who's working for who, sailor.'

'So what d'you want me to do?' the young sailor asked. There was a short silence, and the glowing end of the cigar moved through the darkness as the man rolled it around in his mouth pensively.

'I don't want you to do anything as of yet…' he said slowly, smugly, 'but in a few days, when the ship is… _compromised_… see to it that Mr Tintin has a little accident in all the confusion.'

Little accidents. Now _that _was something the young sailor knew how to orchestrate.

'No problem,' he said. 'In fact, see it as already done.'

'Don't be complacent,' the older man warned, as he slipped back into the darkness, dropping his cigar to the floor and crushing the glowing end underneath the heel of his boot. 'You may find Tintin is a surprisingly hard bug to crush.'

()

'How's it going, Cuthbert?' Haddock asked grumpily, sticking his head round the door of the laboratory. There was a bang, and a puff of smoke, followed by Calculus coughing quite violently.

'I'm not going anywhere, Captain,' Calculus said, waving his hand in the air to dissipate the sudden influx of smoke. 'You know very well that I am busy trying to find Tintin's location in the time stream.'

'Yes yes; I know,' the Captain said impatiently, shaking his head and fully entering the lab. 'You've been at it for three weeks and I've not seen hide nor hair of you.'

'I am at a very delicate stage of the operation, Captain; but I have so far managed to narrow down the possiblitiies to around thirty thousand single points in time-'

'Thirty _thousand! _Blistering barnacles, Cuthbert, we haven't got much time-'

'On the contrary, Captain, time is something we have in unlimited supply.' The professor grinned rather manically, twisting a dial and flicking a couple of switches before removing his protective goggles and coming over to talk to the Captain properly. 'You see, no matter how long it takes me to find the exact point when Snowy came back through the window, in order to open it again just after it closed, we can always open it at _that exact time! _Without fail!'

'I wouldn't say we have an unlimited supply of time,' the Captain grumbled, 'neither you nor I are getting any younger.'

'What was that?' the Professor asked, already distracted by a blinking light on a machine. Haddock shook his head impatiently.

'Nothing, nothing,' he said angrily. 'I'll just go back to Marlinspike and marinate in my anxiety, shall I?'

'Yes, very good,' Calculus said, his mind already on other things. The Captain frowned.

Snowy woofed quietly from down by his ankles. He ruffled the dog behind the ears absent-mindedly.

'Come on boy; let's go get a bone from the village,' Haddock said. Snowy perked up slightly at the word 'bone', but his tail could not manage more than a feeble half-wag that stopped almost as soon as it began.

The door to the laboratory clicked quietly shut, just as Cuthbert cried out in triumph.

'Only 29, 999 to go!'

()

The air was still and heavy when they reached Hull, England, and began swap cargo. Archie chatted amiably with some of the English sailors who joined the **Icarus** at Hull, coming on board with the cargo, swapping with some of the crew who had been with the ship for a couple of weeks. Tintin hung back, staying in Archie's shadow, nodding and smiling, but saying little. The language wasn't a problem; Tintin spoke perfect English, not to mention German and Dutch, albeit with a slight accent, but by staying the quiet Belgian boy who spoke only French kept him off the radar.

Much to Tintin's disappointment, Allan was not one of the crew members to take a respite in England. In fact, it ranked almost equally with his disappointment over losing Jacques' trail. He'd scoured the ship since he'd given up on the chase, but hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Syldavian spy.

How could the man have just… disappeared? Could he have somehow left the ship?

No, Tintin decided, he must still be there. None of the safety boats were missing and somehow he didn't think Jacques would give up and run away so quickly. He was still on the **Icarus**. Of that Tintin was sure. He had, however, been slightly anxious when they docked at Hull, in case Jacques took his chance and escaped then.

Archie had interrupted his worrying when dusk fell on the ship and the lights of Hull twinkled off the choppy seawater.

'Have you seen the paper?' Archie asked, breaking Tintin's reverie.

'No; why?'

'I thought you might want to see this.'

Surprised by the rather grave tone of Archie's usually light and cheery voice, Tintin took the paper and looked carefully at the paper, taking a few seconds to adjust to the language change. He'd always found speaking easier than reading in languages other than French, his mother tongue, and English was no exception.

'Need some help translating?' Archie offered, obviously picking up on Tintin's struggle.

'No, no. I'm fine,' he said, shaking Archie's helping hand off as he focussed on the thick black headline.

**Syldavian Ambassador receives warm welcome from Spanish Royals**

'The Syldavian Ambassador, travelling to Spain for a trade meeting, was greeted warmly by Spanish Royals when he arrived in Barcelona last Sunday…' Tintin trailed off, scanning the page for more information, rapidly translating any key words and phrases he picked up on.

'… seen on Monday at a party thrown by… ah, here we are… at a party thrown by Dmitri Romanov, the billionaire renowned for his collection _of scientific equipment_.'

'Scientific equipment?' Archie snorted. 'If I were a billionaire, I wouldn't spend all my money on microscopes.' Tintin ignored him.

'This makes perfect sense!'

'It does?'

'Jacques stole the blueprints from Professor Calculus, but was intending to sell them to Romanov by using the machine to travel back in time!'

'But how would that help Syldavia?'

'I'm sure Romanov would have paid handsomely for the blueprints, probably almost three quarters of his entire net worth. He could easily earn it back _using _the time machine – betting and so forth, that kind of thing – and Jacques would bring the payment back to the future and it would be used to fund Syldavia's war efforts!'

'Why couldn't Syldavia have just used the time machine themselves?' Archie asked, confused. 'Surely that would earn them more money that whatever Romanov could pay them.'

'Syldavia has nowhere near the equipment to build the machine, or the money to fund such a project, not by themselves. And I doubt they would want to draw attention to the fact that they owned blueprints to a time machine by calling in scientists from other countries. No,' Tintin slapped his hand decisively, 'this was the only way it would work for them.'

'So how are the diamonds involved?' Archie asked. Tintin scowled, quite uncharacteristically.

'The one loose end. How do the diamonds fit in?' He stared angrily out at the choppy sea, a stiff English breeze buffeting his head and freezing his ears.

'It doesn't make sense,' Archie complained, leaning against the rail and following Tintin's gaze at the line of horizon where inky-black sky met sparkling sea.

'We've got a little while to find out,' Tintin said. 'Until we dock at Spain, Jacques isn't going anywhere.'

Later on, Tintin would come to think of those lines as famous last words.

()

_The building was a huge stone monstrosity that loomed against the slate grey sky, surrounded by thin, bare trees and dry, dying grass. Tintin didn't look back at it, however, as he ran, the blueprints rustling in his hands, Snowy running faithfully at his heels. His other hand clutched a small gun so hard his knuckles were white, and his face was set with determination. He'd been out of action for almost a whole day – the sun he'd seen rise that morning at the dock was sinking now, although its path was masked by a thick layer of heavy cloud._

_It had all been relatively simple once he'd escaped from his small prison; the guard that brought him dinner was one of only two between him and what was apparently the main room of the building, a large empty office dotted randomly with cheap old desks. When he'd kicked his way through the weak lock on the double doors and heard the hopeful bark coming from the messiest desk, it didn't take long for Tintin to liberate Snowy and the documents from the desk._

_Snowy had been tied to the leg of the desk, the rope tight around his neck and tight around the desk, and the dog's exuberance at seeing his master made it almost impossible to untie the tricky knots. Eventually, though, Snowy was free, and licking Tintin's face enthusiastically._

'_Yes, it's good to see you too,' Tintin chuckled, before standing and examining the contents of the desk. For such important blueprints, they weren't exactly inconspicuous. Jacques must have been in a hurry to go somewhere else, because if two guards and a wooden draw were the only protection he could give the blueprints, he couldn't have tried very hard to keep them safe._

_Although, Tintin supposed, it had been very unlikely anyone in the past would know of the stolen blueprints apart from himself, and he'd been locked in a near impenetrable cell._

'_Let's go, boy,' he said, and Snowy in agreement. The little white dog trotted at his heels as he walked briskly to the door, his nerves pushing his legs into a run, slamming his way out of the apparently empty building, the anxious itching burning at the base of his neck warning him about some hidden danger, his reporter's instinct blaring at him._

_It shouldn't have been that easy. _

()

The ship sliced through the small, choppy waves, sliding peacefully through the night, manned by a skeleton crew unlucky enough to draw the short straw and end up working through the night. Among the droopy-eyed sailors were Archie and Tintin, both working hard and unruffled by the late hour.

Archibald Haddock surveyed his strange new companion as they worked. The young man intrigued him, as everything he was seemed to be a contradiction.

Of course, Archie himself couldn't really talk – he came from English gentry, a rich family who owned land in both England and Belgium, and yet wore old turtlenecks instead of expensive clothes, and worked for pittance on old cargo ships when he could have received instant promotion. He wanted to work for his title.

He recognised in Tintin the same sort of discordance as he saw in his own personality. Tintin was obviously young, probably younger than him by a good few years, but he talked and acted as though he had seen so much and done so much it made Archie feel young and inexperienced. Everything Tintin did, he was competent, even sometimes brilliant, at. From what Archie could tell, the boy also spoke about three languages fluently and had a sharp, analytical mind. This, however, was hidden by a quiff of fluffy ginger hair that gave him a rather simple appearance, teamed with bright, guileless eyes that exuded innocence and naiveté.

He was a hard worker, too; in fact, Archie doubted Tintin did anything by half, but threw his entire effort into everything and anything.

Archie also knew that he and Tintin got along effortlessly, fitting together as well as lifelong friends. He sometimes forgot he had known the boy for little longer than two days.

Yes, Tintin was an enigma, from his name to his origins, a subject he had been amazingly tight-lipped about. He covered up the truth behind a flimsy lie – a missed train could hardly have caused such despondency, and there was the matter of the missing dog – but Archie didn't press the subject, knowing that when Tintin wanted to tell him, he would, and not before.

'Need any help?' he offered, seeing that Tintin was struggling with a heavy barrel almost twice his breadth.'

'No… I'm fine,' he grunted, displaying another of his qualities – stubbornness. Archie ignored his refusal and helped him anyway, catching the barrel just as it began to roll from Tintin's arms. Together they righted it and moved it, and Archie grinned to himself. Stubborn and independent he may be, but Tintin knew when to accept help.

Hopefully he also knew when he was overreaching himself.

()

**A/N: Again, sorry for the wait, and the info-dump heavy chapter. Next chapter we actually see some action!**

**I'm still in study leave, however, and exams are rearing their ugly heads, so next post may not be for a while. I promise to try and post as soon as possible, though. **

**Meg**

**P.S. I'm not sure I like the new layout of . What do you think?**


End file.
